


Alanis Morrisette, Eat Your Heart Out

by Sad_Depressed_Girly



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Like lots of pining, M/M, Minor Erke/Stowe, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Rimming, Women Being Awesome, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29730798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sad_Depressed_Girly/pseuds/Sad_Depressed_Girly
Summary: “Randvi,” Eivor knows where this is going before she even starts explaining. Sure he hasn’t dated anyone in a few years but that doesn’t mean he wants to be set up. Especially not by his coworker and especially not to his coworker’s pseudo ex. “I hate being set up. You’ve practically guaranteed I won’t date him now.” Nothing ruins a potential relationship like knowing it was orchestrated by a third party.
Relationships: Eivor/Sigurd Styrbjornson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm trying something a little different here. I'm usually not very descriptive with my fics. Instead just writing what I think really needs to be known and leaving the rest to the reader's imagination.
> 
> This time, I'm writing in more descriptions. Nothing to crazy, just setting the scenes better. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> This will also be my first multi-chaptered fic. It's not going to be too long (I can't see it being longer then 3, 4 chapters at most) but splitting it into chapters just felt the most natural.

“You invited your _ex_ to your 30th birthday party?” Eivor asks, over the din of said party. He’s holding a beer but he’s too distracted by what Randvi is saying to him to have actually drank much of it. He takes a sip now, not wanting it to get warm. There’s little worse in life then warm beer.

“He’s not really my ex. We barely dated. It was mostly just to appease our families anyway.” Randvi explains. “For some reason, they were sure the two of us would make the perfect match,”

“Was this before or after they found out you preferred vagina?”

Randvi almost spits out her own drink. “Eivor!” but she’s laughing. “It was before, of course it was before,” She pauses here and Eivor has a feeling she’s building up to something.“It was before everyone realized he preferred dick as well,”

“Randvi,” Eivor knows where this is going before she even starts explaining. Sure he hasn’t dated anyone in a few years but that doesn’t mean he wants to be set up. Especially not by his coworker and _especially_ not to his coworker’s pseudo ex. “I hate being set up. You’ve practically guaranteed I won’t date him now.” Nothing ruins a potential relationship like knowing it was orchestrated by a third party.

“No one has said anything about dating, or being set-up.” Randvi says, exasperated. “I just think the two of you would get along is all. You have the same sense of humour...and lack of brain cells.”

“...uh huh,” the fact that he ignores her jab at him probably speaks more then his words do because she’s already throwing her hands up in defeat.

“Fine! Fine, but you’re a fool for not giving him a chance just because I think he would be good for you.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t about dating?” He quips, but she just gives him a frustrated look and walks away.

“Happy Birthday by the way!” He shouts at her retreating back, then he finishes the last of his beer in one go and heads off to find someone to talk to. She means well, he knows she does, but her _ex. Really?_ Who sets someone up with their ex? Randvi, that’s who, apparently.

Shaking his head, Eivor makes his way out of Randvi’s kitchen and into the living room. Looking for any familiar faces. He had agreed to show up early to help her set up, and now, a part of him is beginning to regret the decision. He gets the impression the only reason she asked him in the first place was for this little scheme of hers. It’s still too early for most people to be here, but thankfully, Eivor spots a familiar face in the form of another coworker, Valka sitting on the sofa. Valka is taking classes in woman’s studies and the history of witches on the side and Eivor lets the time pass listening to her explain old magic.

“This is all truly fascinating,” Says a voice above him an hour later, and there’s a hand on his shoulder. “But we’re setting up a game of beer pong and we need a forth player. You in Eivor?”

Eivor looks up at Ivar staring down at him, a crooked smile crossing his scared face. “Sure, I’m down,” he says then glances back at Valka, apologetically. He was actually enjoying their talk. “Tell me more about Wicca on Monday, yeah?” Valka looks pleasantly surprised, but nods her farewell as Eivor goes.

Ubba stands at the end of a table laden with plastic cups formed into rows. So Eivor’s playing against the Ragnar brothers it seems. He takes his place at the other end of the table, wondering at his missing partner. He hopes the man can throw. Ubba and Ivar are fantastic at this game and Eivor may or may not be a little too competitive.

“Sigurd!” Ivar goes to Ubba’s side, shouting at an unknown person across the room. “Get over here! We found our fourth!”

Eivor turns just in time to see a tall, - seriously, he must be as tall as Ubba, and up until now. Eivor didn’t even believe that was possible. Ubba was a giant, - lean, handsome _,_ man coming his way. Eivor takes in the man’s appearance, and he doesn’t know how one person could make something as simple as a plain white t-shirt look so attractive. (He thinks maybe the fact that the shirt is tight enough to reveal all the man’s muscles, - the sleeves hugging his biceps perfectly,- might have something to do with it.)

“Sigurd, meet Eivor. Eivor, Sigurd,” Ivar says, once Sigurd has taken his place at Eivor’s side, biceps flexing slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest. Then Ivar flicks his wrist and flawlessly lands the ball in Eivor’s top cup.

Eivor doesn’t even have time to be annoyed. “Pleasure to meet you,” Sigurd says with a small smile, “I hope you have good aim. Ivar is an ass.” Eivor laughs and lifts the cup to take his required drink.

“Pussy,” Ivar replies, to Ubba’s amusement.

The thing is, Eivor _does_ have good aim. There’s a reason Ivar singled him out as an opponent. Eivor is Ivar’s match. The only person the unpredictable Ragnar brother considers an equal, and now he has someone he can impress with his skills. Eivor shoots his shot.

It lands with a little splash in a cup in the second row, to Ivar’s bleat of displeasure and Sigurd’s laugh of triumph.

“Good shot,” Sigurd whispers and Eivor warms with pleasure at the compliment.

“So how do you know Randvi?” Eivor asks his partner as Ubba drinks. He figures he should try to get to know the man who will help him wipe the confident smile off Ivar’s face.

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Sigurd replies, and then can’t say much more as Ubba’s shot hits and he’s forced to take his drink.

“And it’s one you won’t be hearing now, unless you want to lose this game.” That’s Ivar, staring at Eivor with challenge in his eyes. Eivor just shakes his head with a smile as Sigurd lands a shot.

“I don’t think it will be us who lose.” He goads while Ivar drinks.

And so the game goes. Eivor is happy to find that Sigurd is a great partner, not only can the man aim with the best of them, but he’s laid back and easy to talk to. He’s charming in a way that makes Eivor feel like he could sweet talk a child into handing over their candy. In the end, It’s a close match but Eivor and Sigurd win by one point.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Blondie, Just you wait until our rematch.” Ivar says, but he’s in a good mood, laughing and drinking as Ubba walks away, already bored.

“I have to admit, that’s the first time I’ve ever actually managed to beat those two at beer pong.” says Sigurd, as Ivar follows Ubba back into the fray. He’s relaxed now, leaning on the table. Attention focused purely on Eivor.

“Honestly, same here,” Laughs Eivor. “We make a good team,”

“We do. You better be here when Ivar calls for that rematch.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” And Eivor means it. He’s finding himself drawn to Sigurd, and he’s happy to see the other man has no intention of leaving his side. “The last thing I need is that man bragging about how he beat me, yet again.”

Sigurd laughs. “Tell me about it, I’ve known those two since we were kids. Ivar never shuts up.” He pauses, a fond smile crossing over his face. “How do you know them?”

“We work together.” Eivor replies easily. He wonders at Sigurd’s words. Neither Ivar nor Ubba have ever mentioned the other man before, but he supposes they don’t really talk that much, outside of work.

“My condolences.” Sigurd teases.

“It’s not too bad,” Eivor says with a laugh “The guy can be surprisingly efficient when he puts his mind to it.” It doesn’t hurt that, as part of the demolition section of a construction company, Ivar’s job is spent mostly just tearing things down. “God, I could go for another beer.”

Sigurd straightens from his position and for a second, Eivor worries he’s going to turn away and find someone else to talk to, but instead he flourishes his arm in the direction of the kitchen “Lead the way,”

The two of them make their way through the throngs of people. Enough time has passed now that the party is in full swing. Crowds gathering in every room. Manoeuvring through them has warmed Eivor enough that by the time they reach their destination, he’s peeling his leather jacket off and tossing it over a chair.

“So what is it you do then?” Eivor asks as Sigurd leads the two of them, cold beers in hand, upstairs to a quiet room, and they sit down on the carpeted floor, backs against the wall.

“I’m a lawyer.”

Eivor whistles. How fancy. “My condolences,” he says. Throwing Sigurd’s words back at him.

The other man laughs, loud and sudden. Like he wasn’t expecting the response. “Appreciated,” Sigurd says. “What with having the mayor as your father, you don’t really have much of a say in these things.” He continues, glancing at Eivor as the information sinks in.

And now that Eivor thinks about it, Sigurd _does_ look like Styrbjorn. There’s a niggling thought in his mind, something he feels like he should remember, but he’s starting to get tipsy, and the thought is gone.

“That must be tough,” He says, “Having all those eyes on you constantly,”

“It was, for a long time. My father was always in politics and growing up around that...it was confining. I never felt like I could be truly myself. I rebelled in many ways.” Here, Sigurd touches his knuckles where tattoos mark the skin all along his hand.

Unthinkingly, Eivor reaches out, himself. He had noticed them earlier, but couldn’t figure out a way to bring them up without it being awkward. He’s touching Sigurd’s hand before he even realizes, and he feels the other man freeze.

“Sorry! Sorry,” He says in a rush, pulling his hand back like he’s been stung. “I noticed them earlier and I was curious and I just....I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“No, it’s fine, here,” Sigurd twists, extending his tattooed arm in Eivor’s direction, wordless permission for Eivor to touch. Slowly, cautiously, Eivor reaches out and runs his fingers over the words marking Sigurd’s hand. “These are...Norse?” He guesses. They looked like something his father might have worn, once, a long time ago.

“Yeah, I guess even when I’m rebelling, I have to do it in a traditional way.” Sigurd almost sounds bitter. “My father always said ‘Viking blood flows through our veins’” He puts on a different voice at that, making an accurate, but not particularly flattering impression of the mayor.

Eivor smiles. He’s holding the touch a little longer then necessary. He lets his fingers rub up against Sigurd’s before pulling away, slowly, rubbing the bottom of his index finger gently to the bottom of Sigurd’s. He feels Sigurd’s finger tentatively hook against his, almost like he’s pulling Eivor back in, and Eivor hooks his finger in return and just leaves it there. He looks up to Sigurd’s face and suddenly notices how close they are. They must have been slowly leaning into each other as this all was happening. Now they’re so close, Eivor can see the individual eyelashes surrounding Sigurd’s piercing eyes, focused entirely on Eivor’s face. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss the other man, and Eivor is shocked at just how much he wants to do so. He feels as if he’s in a dream, as cliche as it sounds. Like this is a strange memory from a long time ago,

Instead, he pulls back and brings his hands to his own hair. He has it in a different style then usual. Normally it’s partially shaved on one side, allowing his own tattoo to be visible, but tonight, he has it parted differently and the blonde strands fall over his shaved side, hiding the ink. He pulls them back and tilts his face, Allowing Sigurd full view of the raven tattoo on the side of his head, and the mangled scar that rests beneath it.

“This is beautiful,” Sigurd says, in awe, and Eivor shivers as the other man’s hand touches his head where the tattoo marks his skin. “This is also Norse inspired?”

“For my father and mother,” Eivor says, and he still struggles with the words, even though it’s been years now. “They died. 4 years ago.” Then as he feels Sigurd’s fingers trail past the tattoo to the scar below it, he elaborates, “Car accident.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sigurd says and it sounds so genuine and heartfelt that Eivor can’t help but turn to face him again, to lean back into him. Sigurd’s hand is still caressing the scar at the side of Eivor’s head, almost absentmindedly, and Eivor stops breathing. All he can see is Sigurd, all he can smell is Sigurd’s cologne. He doesn’t understand how this stranger he just met could be so alluring. Could enrapture him in such a way. He feels lost in this moment-

“There you two are,” comes Randvi’s voice from the doorway, and the moment is shattered like fine glass. Both Eivor and Sigurd freeze in place. “I was looking everywhere for you, Sigurd. We’re about to get the cake ready,”

“Right, yes, of course.” Sigurd is pulling away and getting up before Eivor even knows what’s happening. “I’ll come help. I’m sorry Randvi, I was talking with Eivor here and I lost track of time.”

“I can see that,” She says, completely amused. While Eivor gets up off the floor and tries to get his bearings back, “I’m so glad you two can finally meet each other. Eivor, this is the man I was telling you about earlier.” And now her face twists into an expression of pure, unadulterated smugness.

Sigurd turns to look at Eivor just as the realization comes crashing into him. Sigurd Styrbjornson. Son of the mayor. Heir to a political family. The same political family that Randvi has mentioned in tandem with her own family. The same two families trying to set up their heirs in what they all thought was a fated match. Sigurd is Randvi’s ex. Fuck.

Eivor doesn’t give Randvi the satisfaction of seeing his reaction, instead, turning to Sigurd, and gathering all the charm Eivor has, he says “Right! Sigurd. Randvi did mention something about you. I believe her words where how the two of us share the same ‘lack of brain cells’? It’s a pleasure to finally meet my intellectual counterpart.” He knows he’s playing right in the mud, snitching on Randvi like that, but all’s fair in love and war, baby. He extends his hand for the laughing Sigurd to take.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Sigurd replies before taking his hand in a firm shake, and then holding it while they stare at each other, eyes filled with mirth. Eivor briefly wonders if Sigurd knows this was suppose to be a set up. If Ranvdi told Sigurd anything about Eivor. If she had a similar conversation with him to the one she had with Eivor earlier today. God but Eivor well and truly hates being set up.

“Eivor, why don’t you come help us with the cake as well,” Says Randvi, interrupting his thoughts, “We could always use more hands,” And when he turns to look at her, she still looks smug and amused. Almost like she’s mentally saying ‘see? I told you so, didn’t I?’ He gets the distinct impression he’s fallen right into her trap.

As they make their way back downstairs he hears Sigurd over the noise. “Ranvdi, exactly how much cake did you get?”

\------------------------------------------

The answer, it turns out, is a lot. Ranvdi got a lot of cake. More cake then Eivor has seen in one room, and honestly, three sets of hands was barely enough to sort through it all.

Throughout the prep and then the over-all birthday celebrations, Eivor is chagrined to see he had lost track of Sigurd. Maybe the other man had finally tired of Eivor’s company. He spends the rest of his night chatting with old friends; former coworkers who have since moved on. He’s extremely happy to hear that not only are Erke and Stowe doing well, but they finally managed to get their heads out of their assess long enough to realize what everyone else has known for years.

“It’s about damn time,” He says to the newly engaged couple, and he tries not to let his eyes stray from them, looking for the tall red-headed man he had felt such a strong connection too.

He doesn’t see Sigurd for the rest of the night.

It’s not until he gets home that he realizes he never bothered getting the other man’s contact information. He feels shockingly devastated by the realization, and though he knows he could just ask Randvi, he’s not so sure she would even give it to him now. After everything...

He contemplates asking Ivar, but he fears the other man’s jeering, - And Eivor knows with utmost certainty, that he would indeed jeer, - almost as much as he fears Randvi’s.

Maybe Ubba then, he considers before remembering he has no way of contacting Ubba outside of work, and the other man is on vacation next week.

‘Maybe Sigurd doesn’t even want to see me again.’ A traitorous part of Eivor’s mind supplies. Eivor was sure he felt a spark between them but it could have just been him. Or maybe it was just the celebratory atmosphere getting to them both. It’s always so hard to tell when there’s alcohol involved.

Eivor has exactly the rest of the weekend to overthink the party and decidedly not mope about his lost connection, before he gets a Facebook friend request from a Sigurd Styrbjornson along with a message. “Hey Eivor, not sure you remember me, it’s Sigurd, from the party. You left your leather jacket at Ranvdi’s and I have it with me now. Are you free sometime to meet up and grab it?”

Eivor didn’t even notice the jacket missing. So lost in thoughts of Sigurd as he was. He considers, for the first time, that he may be in way deeper then he had originally thought. His heart pounds and his stomach flutters as he accepts the friend request and plans for a meet up. Next weekend, because this week is unfortunately too booked for either of them, at a quaint little coffee shop in the down town area.

‘It’s not a date,’ He tells himself. ‘he’s just returning your jacket,’ he tries. ‘he’s just being a decent human being and you’re overthinking all of this.’ he continues.

But his heart keeps pounding and he can’t help but notice that Sigurd could have just left the jacket at Randvi’s and Eivor would have gotten it back when he saw her again at work tomorrow.

‘Don’t overthink this,’ he tries again, but he remembers the delicious smell of Sigurd’s cologne and the intense look of his piercing eyes, and he drops his head in his hands with a groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Modern AU no on asked for!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eivor is in way deeper then he has originally thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is longer. The fic kinda got away from me. In a good way, but the whole thing should still be only 3 or 4 chapters long.
> 
> Also, the explicit rating definitely comes into play here.

Safe to say, Eivor’s week drags. He tries desperately not to let it show, lest Randvi catch on, but he has a sinking suspicion she already knows what’s up. There’s only so many times you can keep checking the time on your phone before people start to get the impression you’re looking forward to something.

“Gee Eivor, you meeting someone for a date or something?” Gunnar asks at the outdoor water cooler one day, after Eivor had almost let his cup overflow from staring at his phone instead of the actual cooler. Eivor just laughs him off but he can’t help the feeling that Randvi is staring holes through the back of his head. He resolutely avoids looking at his phone for the rest of the week.

Finally, _finally,_ the date of his and Sigurd’s meet-up arrives, and Eivor gets to the designated coffee shop to see Sigurd is already there. Seated near the window, scrolling through his phone while Eivor’s jacket hangs neatly on the seat across.

Once he sits down and the two of them start chatting, Eivor realizes that all his anxiety was for nothing. It wasn’t the alcohol. The two of them genuinely seem to click. Conversation flows easily, and there’s never any need for mindless small-talk.

But there’s a stiffness to Sigurd that Eivor didn’t notice at the party. Almost like an invisible wall that Eivor has no idea how to get past.

Before he even realizes, two hours have gone and it’s time for them to head off. Sigurd has a work obligation to attend. They say their goodbyes, and go their separate ways, and it’s all so casual. Too casual, and Eivor sadly reconciles with the fact that this is all there is. It really was just some drunken flirting at a mutual friend’s birthday party. Sigurd met up to give him his jacket back, because he’s a nice guy, and it’s an expensive jacket. (It was his father’s actually, but Sigurd doesn’t know that, and a part of Eivor feels ashamed that he even forgot about the jacket in the first place.) And that’s all there is to it.

Eivor drives home with his thoughts in a jumble and a dark cloud above him. He even attempts to lighten the mood by turning on the radio, only to resolutely shut it off when he realizes the song that plays is Ironic, by Alanis Morissette. He already feels like shit, he doesn’t need to be attacked right now, thanks. He drives the rest of the way in silence.

By the time he gets out of his car and walks to his apartment, darkness is falling and bringing with it a chill. Eivor is glad, at least, he has his jacket back, and he zips it up and stuffs his hands into the pockets. There’s a piece of paper in the left hand side and at first Eivor thinks it’s just some trash he shoved in there and forgot, but as he steps into his apartment and turns on the light to get a good look, he finds writing on the scrap of paper. Numbers.

Sigurd left Eivor his phone number.

Holding a hand over his mouth, Eivor falls back onto his closed apartment door. He suddenly feels incredibly warm despite the temperature in his apartment not really being much different then the chill night air he had just walked in from.

Eivor tries to hold out. Doesn’t want to seem desperate, even though, internally, he feels it.

But he texts Sigurd that night.

He gets a reply back immediately.

\------------------------------------------

They go on many coffee meet-ups after that, first once a week, then going up to twice, then three times. Eivor learns everything about Sigurd. From the important stuff like his worst fears (Disappointing the ones he loves, dying without having left his mark on the world) his dreams, (following in his family’s footsteps without having to give away parts of himself. Becoming the first openly gay mayor of their city) to the more inconsequential stuff like his favourite colour (Orange) and his favourite type of music (Instrumental ‘I’m an old man at heart, Eivor.’ and old Norse ‘That’s entirely my father’s fault,’)

And Eivor gives back in kind. His own worst fears (Dying alone. Cars. Wolves ‘don’t ask, Sigurd, I really have no explanation for that one,’) His dreams (To own his own company. To make his mother and father proud. ‘Eivor, I think they’re already proud of you.’ Sigurd tells him after that one, and they both ignore the shaky breath Eivor takes.) His favourite colour, (Blue,) and his favourite type of music (Classic Rock, and Pop,)

Eivor deeply wishes he could consider these meet-ups dates. Most of the time, that’s what they feel like to him, but that wall Eivor felt around Sigurd that first time never went way. It looms ever present between them. Showing itself in the way Sigurd carries himself, - back straight and rigid, - and the way he carefully maintains his distance, Eivor’s tried tentative touches every once in a while, - a gentle push of his hip against Sigurd’s whenever they sit or stand close enough to justify, or a slow brush of fingers when he finds the opportunity. - Sigurd pulls back every time. Eivor can’t help but feel like, while they continue to connect through their words and interests, a distance still grows. A gaping maw that Eivor can’t seem to cross.

More-so Eivor is realizing how desperately he wants to cross it. Because even as it grows, so too does Eivor’s affection. Sigurd has wormed his way through all the darkness and pain Eivor faces every day, and has planted himself, resolutely, right inside Eivor’s heart.

Eivor is in love.

‘Sigurd just needs time,’ Eivor tries to reason with himself, and he wants to be patient. To let Sigurd come to him, but with each passing meeting, his patience wears thinner and thinner, and his heart feels more and more like it’s being ripped from his chest. He doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.

\------------------------------------------

Besides Sigurd, Eivor still has other friends he likes to keep up with, and he tries to see them as often as he can. Meeting up with Erke and Stowe at Randvi’s party has successfully reignited his friendship with the two, and he’s been spending more time with them lately. Inevitably, his situation with Sigurd comes into conversation.

“You need to just tell him Eivor,” Stowe says in concern. Reaching out to take Eivor’s hand across the little dining room table they’re currently seated at. Erke and Stowe had invited Eivor over for lunch.

“He’s not ready to hear it,”

“Then he’s not ready and that’s fine. That’s on him,” Replies Erke, from where he’s doing the cleaning-up in the kitchen behind Stowe. “But you can’t keep letting this build up the way it is, it’s not fair to either of you. If he’s not ready then you have to let him go.”

And he’s right, but Eivor tries to think of not seeing Sigurd again and he can’t picture it. His heart breaks.

He sees Valka at a different coffee shop later in the week, and try as he might, he can’t fix the dreary mood that has begin to come over him.

“Do you believe in fate Eivor? Destiny?” She asks him over the cup of tea she holds up to her face, in both her hands, as the two of them sit across from each other at a little table in a corner of the cafe.

“I...I’m not sure,” Eivor answers honestly. It seems like such a silly thing to ask, but it means a lot to him personally, and it’s something he finds himself pondering often.

“What about soulmates?” She continues.

“Soulmates? Is this about Sigurd?” He asks, bewildered. He can’t consider her question. Doesn’t have it in him.

She stays pointedly silent.

\------------------------------------------

The last straw on the proverbial camel's back comes two weeks after that conversation. Sigurd has been assigned to a new case and most of his afternoons are now spent working, so their little coffee meet-ups can’t happen as often, and when they do, it’s always in the evenings.

Eivor sits at his usual spot and waits. Sigurd is late, but that’s not a surprise, all things considering. Eivor can tell he’s absolutely swamped with work.

When he finally comes in, Eivor almost doesn’t recognize him. He’s come to know Sigurd as the handsome laid-back giant in tight t-shirts and blue jeans. This Sigurd isn’t that. This Sigurd walks in with a perfectly tailored, crisp, black, two piece suit. His hair gelled back and his beard, normally well maintained, doesn’t have a single hair out of place. A stunning gold watch sits on his left wrist. Eivor’s breath has been taken straight from his lungs. He can’t look away from Sigurd even if he wanted to.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Eivor,” And he sounds truly flustered even though he’s only 10 minutes past their meet-up time. “I just couldn’t get away until now.”

“Sigurd, you look-”

Sigurd interrupts Eivor with a laugh, pulling his chair out and sitting down, body visibly relaxing once he’s in Eivor’s space, and Eivor can’t help but find it ironic that Sigurd seems the most relaxed right now, dressed to the nines in, what must be, an outfit worth thousands of dollars.

“Like a stuck-up asshole?” Sigurd jokes, though those aren’t remotely the words Eivor would chose to describe him currently. “I know, I came straight from work. Didn’t have time to change.”

“You look amazing, Sigurd,” Eivor says honestly, and at the startled expression Sigurd throws a him, he immediately regrets it. “I’ll go get us some drinks,” He rushes on, not willing to let Sigurd respond and prolong his embarrassment any further, “Do you want anything? Are you heading back to work again?”

“Coffee please,” Sigurd replies, easily recomposing himself. “And no. No more work, I’m all yours for the night,” And Eivor doesn’t want to hope but Sigurd almost sounds flirty.

He scurries off to get their drinks and catch his breath. Apparently, he’s not nearly as good at composing himself as Sigurd is, and his entire night has been thrown completely off kilter. He orders and grabs the drinks on autopilot, barely noticing when the barista labels his cup with an “Erica”, and when he turns back toward Sigurd, his breath leaves his lungs all over again. Jesus, but Eivor’s heart can’t handle this right now.

They spend the evening talking like usual. Sigurd telling Eivor what little details he can about the case he’s on, and Eivor making Sigurd laugh with tales of the day’s work shenanigans, and it’s just as lovely as always, but Eivor feels stripped bare. He feels as if his heart is a glowing beacon plastered on the front of his chest. As if any passerby could see how smitten he is on the man sitting across from him.

‘Poor fool,’ the cruel strangers whisper from Eivor’s imagination. ‘It’s obvious he’s out of your league, buddy,’

Eivor only continues to get more flustered as the evening goes on. He tries to hide it, and he prays he’s succeeding, but every habit of Sigurd’s, every personal tick, is territory untraveled in this new context. Sigurd has a habit of rubbing at his left wrist, and only now does Eivor realize he’s rubbing at a watch that wasn’t there. Sigurd scratches at the tattoos on his hand, almost self consciously, and Eivor wonders if clients get on his case about them. If he’s forced to use make-up to cover them up. ‘He must _hate_ that,’ Eivor thinks. Up until now, Eivor had believed he had learned who Sigurd was entirely, and he’s suddenly realizing there’s a whole other side of Sigurd that Eivor hasn’t seen. That Sigurd hasn’t shown him. Has been too nervous and scared to show him.

Eivor wants desperately to meet this side of Sigurd too.

All too quickly, the coffee shop is closing and their night is coming to an end. They walk out into the fresh air together, and Eivor’s just about to go to his car, before he turns to say his goodbyes and stops in his tracks.

With his hands in his pockets, standing in the light of the streetlamp, intense eyes fixed on Eivor, Sigurd looks ethereal.

“Come home with me,” Eivor blurts, completely unthinkingly, and Sigurd looks startled for the second time that night.

“To do what?” Sigurd asks, and Eivor sees the question for what it is, a way for Eivor to save face. To walk back from the horrendous blunder he just made.

“To have coffee?” He replies, and then almost slaps himself. A thousand things he could have picked to say and he lands on one of the most known invitations for sex in the English language.

“Eivor-” Sigurd starts and Eivor won’t. He refuses to let him finish.

“No, never mind. Forget I said anything,” His face feels like it’s burning and his hands are shaking from where he has them tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. He has monumentally fucked this entire thing up. “It was a stupid suggestion anyw-”

“Alright.”

“What?”

“Let’s go back to your place.” Sigurd clarifies.

It takes him a second to digest these words but he can’t think straight. His heart is in his throat and he’s suffering, what seems like, an emotional whiplash. Jesus Christ. “Ok, so I can text you the address or you can follow me in your car, whichever you prefer.” Eivor’s trying so hard for casual but he feels like he’s missing the mark.

“There’s no need for either. I came straight from the office. I can leave my car in the parking lot there.”

“Right,” Of course. Eivor knows this. Proximity to Sigurd’s workplace is the main reason they had picked this particular coffee shop all those months ago. “My car’s this way then.”

They silently walk to the car and hop in. Eivor can’t tell if the tension he feels in the air is awkward, or if it’s just anticipation for what’s to come. Probably a bit of both. He turns the keys and listens to his car start as the radio comes on. Another Alanis Morrisette song starts playing at him and he laughs before he can stop himself. “I’ve been hearing her everywhere,” He says in explanation, at Sigurd’s questioning glance. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“You’re not. The radio _loves_ her. She’s constantly playing around the office.” Sigurd groans. “I swear I know the words to that one Ironic song by heart,”

Eivor laughs and just like that, the tension is broken, and it’s just him and Sigurd again. The car ride to his place is short, only 15 minutes, but as a joke, Sigurd starts an Alanis Morrisette playlist from his phone and they drive while belting it to ‘Ironic’.

They make their way from the car to Eivor’s apartment still laughing, and Eivor is in such a giddy mood, he can’t help but reach out for Sigurd’s hand. He’s pleasantly surprised when the other man doesn’t pull away, and they hold hands through the journey up to Eivor’s floor. Eivor has to resist the urge to hide his face. He feels flustered and giddy.

Now that he finally has Sigurd, he doesn’t want to let go, but he has to in order to fish his keys out of his pocket and unlock his door. He leads Sigurd inside with an air of faux confidence. In reality, the tension is back and Eivor does a mental tally: Apartment? Tidy, Bed? Unmade but he doesn’t think that will matter much anyway, if this goes as planned, Lube? Check, right inside the nightstand, where he always keeps it. Condoms? Also check, thank God. He’s barely had sex since his parents died, but he bought a fresh box a couple months back in vein hope...

”So this is the place,” He says to Sigurd, with a slight flourish. It’s a nice apartment. Nothing compared to the ones Sigurd or Randvi’s money could buy, but Eivor is a true fixer-upper, and he’s really spruced this place up to look much more expensive then it is. He’s actually quite proud of himself.

Sigurd looks around while taking his coat off and delicately laying it over the couch. He takes in everything from the large TV, to the pictures of Eivor and his family on the walls and shelves.

“It’s nice,” He says with a gentle smile. “It’s very You,”

Eivor’s not exactly sure what Sigurd means by that but before he can ask, Sigurd’s full attention is fixed back on him, and the next second he feels Sigurd’s lips over his, and Sigurd’s beard tickling his face as the other man’s tongue immediately pushes past his lips to explore his mouth. Eivor moans and wraps his arms around Sigurd’s shoulders, trying his best to meld his body to the other man’s. Sigurd is so tall that he has to bend down to be at Eivor’s level and Eivor still has to stand on the balls of his feet to reach him.

After blissfully making out like this for a time, the discomfort finally starts to get to Eivor and he brings one of he legs up around Sigurd’s waist. Sigurd grabs it and then grabs Eivor’s other leg too, physically lifting him up as Eivor wraps himself around Sigurd’s body, and if Eivor wasn’t hard already, he sure as shit is now. He uses whatever piss poor leverage he has to thrust into Sigurd and then groans at the feel of Sigurd’s cock at his ass. Just as hard as Eivor’s and large, from the amount of it Eivor can feel.

They only break the kiss long enough for Sigurd to breathlessly ask “Bedroom,” thought it comes out more as a statement then a question.

“First door to your right,” Eivor replies, equally as breathless before going in for another kiss. Sigurd walks them to the room like Eivor weighs nothing, and it’s the sexiest thing Eivor has ever experienced. He’s not a light man, and he’s never had a previous lover be able to carry him before. He lets go of Sigurd’s lips and latches onto his throat instead, right above his shirt collar. He can taste Sigurd’s intoxicating cologne and he squirms at the loud groan the other man lets out.

The next thing he knows, Eivor is being tossed onto his bed, where he lands with a slight bounce. He hadn’t even realized they had reached his bedroom, lost as he was in Sigurd’s arms. Now, he looks up at the man and his mouth waters at the sight. Sigurd practically _looms_ over him from where he stands at the end of the bed, loosening his tie in three quick motions before almost yanking the thing open. Then going to his dress shirt and slowly opening it too, button by button. Eyes completely focused on Eivor the entire time. Eivor crawls to him as if his body is on auto pilot. Thoughts on nothing but the prospect of finally getting his mouth on Sigurd’s dick. He reaches Sigurd in what feels like ages, but logically, couldn't have been more then a few seconds.

Sigurd never bothered to take his shirt and tie off, and they both hang loosely open, revealing a toned chest that has previously only been hinted at through the tight shirts Sigurd so often wears. Eivor notices more tattoos, partially covered by the fabric, and he makes a note to ask Sigurd about them one day. Maybe, he hopes, he can get a chance to see them fully for himself. To explore them with his fingers and mouth, Now Eivor’s hands on Sigurd’s belt, he undoes it, and the other man’s pants in quick succession, constantly maintaining their heated eye contact while he delicately pulls Sigurd’s cock from it’s confines and brings it to his lips. At the first taste, Sigurd tips his head to the ceiling with a low, guttural sound, and he looks like something right out of Eivor’s raunchiest dreams.

Eivor wastes no time. Engulfing Sigurd’s cock in his mouth, he relaxes and takes the entire thing in one go, feeling the tip of it hit the back of his throat. He’s showing off, he knows he is, but he can’t help himself. He’s wanted this for so long. Has wanted Sigurd for so long, and from the way Sigurd is reacting, - Eivor’s name whispered from his lips like a prayer, and entire body strained tight in an effort to keep still, to give Eivor control, - he doesn’t mind.

Eivor takes Sigurd’s hips in a firm grip and then slowly pulls back, sucking along the way, until only the very tip of Sigurd’s cock is left on his lips, then he uses his grip on Sigurd to physically shove him back down Eivor’s throat. His eyes water at the strain but Sigurd’s reaction makes the slight discomfort worth it. The taller man continues to moan Eivor’s name, a sheen of sweat shining his chest and sticking his white dress shirt to his body in the sexiest way. He continues like this a litte longer. Using his grip on Sigurd to fuck his own mouth on the other man’s cock as Sigurd slowly looses control.

“Eivor, Ah!, Eivor, Stop,” Eivor feels Sigurd’s hand in his hair, yanking him back, but he goes willingly. Would have stopped on his own the second Sigurd had requested it.

“If you keep going like that, this night will be over too soon.” Sigurd says, breathless and flushed. Then he’s leaning down for a passionate kiss. Before shoving Eivor back and forcibly flipping him over.

“Sigurd, Wha-” Suddenly, Eivor’s jeans and underwear are yanked over his ass in one quick motion and he feels the slight scratch of Sigurd’s beard, - his only warning, - before Sigurd’s mouth is on him. Eivor’s entire body collapses like a puppet with it’s strings cut. He feels Sigurd’s hands on his ass, spreading his cheeks, at the same time as Sigurd’s tongue enters him. He’s yelling into his pillows before he can stop himself. Helpless to do anything but take it as Sigurd starts eating him out with a ferocity that is already driving him wild. One of Sigurd’s hands starts shoving his shirt over his back as the other one moves to lift his hips from the bed and right onto Sigurd’s thrusting tongue and Eivor is _writhing._ Squirming and clawing at his sheets. He doesn’t even recognize the sounds coming out of his own mouth. Eivor’s dick is peaking out from where it’s still confined in his clothing, and he thrusts into his bedding without shame, trying to get any sort of relief as Sigurd follows his movements, jabbing his tongue into him mercilessly.

“Sig-ah! Sigurd, I _can’t_ ,”

Just when he thinks he might actually go mad from this, Sigurd stops and pulls away. Eivor barely has time to catch his breath before he feels the other man’s body cover his.

“Couldn’t let myself be outdone now could I?” Sigurd whispers right into his ear before licking at the shell, and Eivor can do nothing but whimper. “I want to fuck you, Eivor.” Sigurd’s breath ghosts along the wet trail left along his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

“God, Yes. Sigurd. Fuck.”

Eivor goes to flip himself over, and onto his back, but his arms feel like Jelly. Shit. He’s already feeling wrung out and they’ve barely started. Thankfully, Sigurd seems to want the same thing and together the get Eivor on his back again before Sigurd tugs Eivor’s shirt over his head and yanks his jeans and underwear the rest of the way off his legs. Then Eivor is naked and on full display to Sigurd’s hungry gaze.

“You too, Sigurd,” Eivor moans, and Sigurd pulls his shirt and tie the rest of the way off his body. Carelessly tossing them aside.

“Do you have any condoms? Lube?”

“In the drawer beside the bed.”

Sigurd gets up to grab them. Gently taking off his watch and putting it on the nightstand before removing the rest of his clothing. Climbing back onto the bed, supplies in hand. He opens the container of lube and spreads some between his fingers, leaning down and covering Eivor’s naked body with his own. Eivor immediately starts thrusting into him, like he can’t control himself. Chasing the touch of Sigurd’s body, sweat soaked skin on skin. Groaning at the amazing feel of it. Sigurd grabs one of Eivor’s thighs with a slick hand and lifts it while the other goes down and probes at Eivor’s entrance, wasting no time and pushing two lubed fingers inside. Eivor arches and continues to thrust as the other man preps him. Scissoring his fingers and pushing them in and out a few times before adding a third.

“You should see yourself, Eivor.” Sigurd groans. “The way you look right now. So wrecked. Like I’ve already fucked you, and the _sounds_ you make.” Eivor feels completely overwhelmed, both by the situation and by Sigurd’s words. He can’t believe just a short while ago he was leaving another one of their usual coffee dates. He can’t believe he’s here now, about to get what he’s been craving for months. He’s never seen Sigurd so open, so _hungry_ , before and it’s like a drug. Eivor fears he might be getting addicted. Now he pushes his body back onto Sigurd’s fingers, loving the feel of them, the stretch as they push and pull in and out of him. He can’t wait until it’s Sigurd’s dick inside him instead. Can’t imagine how amazing it will feel.

As if reading his mind, Sigurd pulls his fingers free and hunts for the box of condoms. If he notices the pack is unopened, he doesn’t say anything. Simply tearing into the box and grabbing one before tossing the rest aside. The opened box leaves a mess of condoms on Eivor’s floor, and if he’s honest, he doesn’t give a fuck at the moment. His Attention is entirely focused on Sigurd. Leaning back on his bent knees, cock red and hard and standing on end, Sigurd looks like he could be a star in a high end porn movie, and Eivor’s mouth waters.

Sigurd manages to get the condom free of it’s packaging with his oily fingers, and then he’s sliding it over his cock, lining himself up, and finally, _finally_ pushing in. Breaching Eivor inch by blissful inch and it’s pure, indescribable bliss. The stretch is perfect in every way and they’re both moaning, muscles straining as Sigurd bottoms out. Eivor reaches for him, hooks his arms around Sigurd’s shoulders and bites into his neck, hard. He feels Sigurd jolt and thrust deeper into him and does it again. He’s sure to leave a mark and he can’t wait to see it. Normally, he would ask permission before doing such a thing, but there’s a wild, primal part of him that yearns to mark every inch of Sigurd’s body. To claim him as Eivor’s.

“Eivor – Oh fuck – Eivor, I’m going to move now,” Sigurd moans and then starts a slow but steady pace, as Eivor continues biting, marking any part of Sigurd he can get his mouth on. Leaving a trail of purple bruises forming along his neck. Low enough that his shirt collar can hide them. Then Sigurd starts thrusting in earnest, fucking him deep and good and hitting his prostate each time and Eivor can’t do anything but tilt his head back and take it.

Sigurd must take this as an invitation because he leans down and starts leaving marks of his own on Eivor’s neck, then bending further to latch onto a nipple and bite, hard. Eivor _keens_ , the mix of pleasure and pain sending shocks through his body. He’s so close now. He gets his feet under him to gain some leverage and pushes back on every thrust. Fucking himself on Sigurd’s cock. He doesn’t last much longer after that, coming after a few more thrusts and making a mess of both himself and Sigurd,

Sigurd keeps going. Movements getting erratic now as he chases his own climax. He’s thrusting even harder then before. Absolutely ramming into Eivor’s prostate, and even though Eivor feels oversensitive and wrung out, he takes it. Let’s Sigurd use him for his own pleasure. Clenches and bares down on every thrust until Sigurd’s face goes slack and he groans out his climax. Making weak, little thrusts into Eivor’s ravaged body as he slowly comes down.

Sigurd pulls out and collapses on his back besides Eivor, pulling the condom and tying it off before aiming it at the trashcan in the corner of Eivor’s room.

“Clearly, you didn’t fuck me hard enough if your aim is still that good after sex,” Eivor muses, to Sigurd’s laughter.

“You weren’t complaining about my aim when I was using it to constantly hit your prostate,” Is what he says back, and it would have shocked a laugh out of Eivor too, only he’s too exhausted to manage it.

Eivor’s not actually complaining though. He truly can’t think of a single thing to complain about. Not even the cum drying on his stomach. This may just be the best sex he’s ever had.

\------------------------------------------

Eivor wakes the next day with a sore ass and the sounds of his shower running in the background. He can’t help but imagine what Sigurd would look like, naked and wet as he washes himself. Love bites littered all over his neck and chest. Eivor wants to go in there and join him, but he’s not sure where the two of them stand now. If the sex meant the same to Sigurd as it did to him. Instead, Eivor tosses on a shirt and a pair of loose pants, and then goes to his kitchen to make coffee. He tries desperately to not overthink things, and let his anxiety get to him, but he’s so invested, it’s proving to be a hard task.

He hears the shower stop and then Sigurd comes out of the bathroom 10 minutes later, dressed back in his suit, latching his golden watch back in place. Even though his hair is wet, and unkempt, he still looks the vision he did last night, and Eivor can’t help but stare.

“Hope you don’t mind me hopping into your shower,-” Sigurd begins, attention still on his watch, before he looks up and notices Eivor’s staring. “Damn, Eivor, I had no idea suits where such a kink for you,” He jokes, but it sounds awkward, and again, Eivor feels that distance growing between them. He doesn’t understand what he did to cause it and he feels himself getting frustrated. Angry. Part of him feels like he’s being strung along. One second, Sigurd is making him feel special and hopeful, and the next, he’s pulling back, distancing himself and crushing those same hopes.

Enough with this. Eivor decides. Erke and Stowe were right. He can’t keep letting things build the way they are.

“It’s not the suit,” He says, slowly advancing on Sigurd. “Sigurd, I’ve been thinking about you for a long time, I...I care deeply about you,” He decides to go for broke.

A mix of emotions cross Sigurd’s face, before, to Eivor’s complete distress, landing on panic. “Eivor...” But he can’t seem to finish the sentence. Standing there awkwardly in Eivor’s living room. Sigurd looks like a deer caught in headlights. “Eivor...I do care about you,” He tries again, “But I’m not sure this is a good idea,”

And Eivor swears his heart makes an audible sound as it shatters. It must show on his face too because Sigurd flinches as if Eivor slapped him.

“...Do you regret last night?” Eivor knows he shouldn’t have asked the question the second it came out of his mouth. That he’s just putting himself through even more pain, but he can’t help it. He needs to know that at least that’s mutual. That, even if everything else was one-sided, at least they can both agree the sex was good. It doesn’t end up mattering anyway though, because the next words out of Sigurd’s mouth are anything but an answer.

“I’m sorry, I have to get to work,” And Sigurd is rushing off without another word. Leaving Eivor standing in the middle of his living room in a state of shock, heart in pieces. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, but he hears his phone vibrate from the kitchen counter, and when he goes to check it, he finds a text from Sigurd waiting for him.

_I don’t regret it._

It’s not enough. It shouldn’t be enough, but Eivor feels his heart flutter at it anyway. Under the text, dots indicate that Sigurd is typing still. Eivor waits on baited breath only for the dots to vanish. Then reappear, then vanish again. Sigurd is struggling with what to say, and Eivor realizes he’s never known Sigurd to struggle so much with his words. The dots reappear a final time just before Sigurd’s next text finally sends.

_Being with me would cause you nothing but pain._

It’s so different from what Eivor had expected that he’s completely thrown. He doesn’t know how to feel anymore. His brain keeps going through every conversation, every moment with Sigurd, trying to make sense of it all, but the only thing he gets is a headache. In the end, he decides to go back to bed, but when he buries his head into his pillows, he’s distraught to find they smell of Sigurd. Everything smells of Sigurd. Remnants of his cologne surround Eivor like a thick blanket and before he knows it, he’s crying.

He doesn’t hear from Sigurd again that day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

The next day, Eivor calls in sick to work. He hasn’t felt this awful since his parents died. He checks his phone obsessively the entire day but he gets nothing from Sigurd.

He yearns to message the man but he doesn’t know how without showing himself to be even more of a love struck fool, or feeling like he’s a kicked dog, crawling back to it’s owner, begging for forgiveness.

His pride won’t let him do either of those things. Instead he lays on his couch (He can’t bring himself to go into his room right now) in a depressive spiral all day,

\------------------------------------------

Sigurd finally does text him, while he’s at work, two days later. A simple _Can we talk?_ But by then, Eivor is so tired and angry that he just ignores it. He feels like absolute shit, and he can tell he looks it too, by the expressions his coworkers give him. Even Ivar notices.

“What pissed in your cereal this morning?” He asks while Eivor is getting his third cup of coffee. Eivor just ignores him and goes back to his station.

\------------------------------------------

Sigurd continues to text him the next day and the day after that, but Eivor ignores them all.

\------------------------------------------

On the fourth day Eivor looks up from his work station to find Randvi standing infront of him, the morning sun behind her casts her entire body in shadow, and she looks _furious._ Eivor has never seen her look so angry. Not even when Ivar had almost cost them an extremely wealthy and profitable client by punching the client’s brother.

“What are you doing tonight? -No, no, Don’t answer that,” She sneers when Eivor opens his mouth to respond, “It was a rhetorical question. I already know what you’re doing tonight. You’re getting coffee with me at the cafe down the street, where you’re going to explain, in full detail, exactly what happened between you and Sigurd.”

“Nothing happened between us-” He starts.

“Bullshit!” She snaps back, quick and angry like a viper, and it’s enough to cause Eivor to step back. “You two where seeing each other every week, for _months_ and now it’s just nothing?”

“How do you know we’ve been seeing each other?” Eivor’s been extra careful to hide his and Sigurd’s...whatever it was...from Randvi. Not wanting to deal with her smug gloating.

“Because Sigurd told me, how do you think I know, you moron.”

“Sigurd told you?”

“He talks about you all the fucking time, you asshole! Won’t shut up. ‘Eivor is so cool, Randvi’ and ‘Eivor is so charming, Randvi’ and ‘He’s just so comfortable in his own skin, Ranvdi’ God, it’s like the sun shines out of your fucking ass.”

“But I don’t understand...” Eivor feels like the ground is falling out from under him. He feels shaken to his core. Sigurd and Randvi talk to each other? Sigurd talks about him with her? Sigurd truly thinks that way about him?. “He told me...He said...He-”

And for the first time, the anger starts to smooth from Randvi’s face. Replaced by a growing look of concern. “We’re going to that cafe right after work,” She says again, “And you’re going to tell me _everything_ that happened.”

\------------------------------------------

And so Eivor does. Later in the evening, as they sit in a dark corner of the cafe down the street, (At Eivor’s request because he can’t stand the thought of others seeing the pain he’s in right now) Eivor explains everything.

“I still don’t even think he _likes_ me Randvi. He’s always pulling away, never lets me touch him, or get too close.”

“Eivor, he’s the _mayor’s son.”_ She says it like she thinks he’s stupid. “Do you have any idea how much pressure that puts him under?” No, No he has absolutely no clue. “Do you know the scrutiny he has to face? The cameras and tabloids and vultures disguised as reporters?” This part, Eivor does actually have an idea of, but he doesn’t say anything. He never told Randvi about his parents. About what that time was like for him, and he has no interest in bringing it up now.

“But that day,” He starts again, still not convinced, “The day after we had...The day after. I told him, Randvi, I told him I cared about him, and the look on his face...He looked so-”

“Scared?” She supplies. “Panicked maybe? A dash of hopeful optimism thrown in? Followed by self loathing as he realizes what you being with him would put you through?” And Eivor suddenly remembers his text.

_Being with me would cause you nothing but pain._

“He look any of those things to you, Eivor?” She continues with a good amount of snark.

“He should have _told_ me some of this then!” And Eivor is over being beaten down. He’s been hurt by this too. “He should have told me instead of leaving me blindly fumbling in the dark, trying to figure out what’s happening.”

“And I don’t disagree,” She takes pity on him. “He definitely could have handled things better on his end.” She pauses “So what are you going to do about it?”

But they both already know the answer.

“Talk to him Eivor. I really do think you two are perfect for each other.”

Eivor looks at her in disbelief. “You just spent the better part of an hour completely reaming me out.” He points out.

“Yes, because someone I love got hurt, and you are at least partially the culprit.” Eivor is surprised by her words.

“I thought you two were set up by your parents?”

She looks at him sadly now. “We’ve been friends since we were kids.” And when Eivor considers this, it makes sense. Now that he thinks about it. There’s a familiarity between them that feels natural. Like family almost. Clearly, there’s more to Sigurd and Randvi’s relationship then Eivor had bothered to consider.

“Talk to him, Eivor.” Randvi says again. Sadness in her eyes.

\------------------------------------------

Eivor takes the rest of the night to compose himself and build up his courage. Then he texts Sigurd while on a break at work the next day. Just a simple,

_Did you still want to talk?_

It takes Sigurd two hours to get back to him, and Eivor can’t help but wonder if Sigurd is angry, or just really busy. As a lawyer, it could be either.

Sigurd’s reply back is just as simple,

_I’ll be home by 8:30_

Eivor agrees to meet Sigurd at his apartment after getting directions, and then spends the rest of his work day trying not to think about it. As usual, he fails miserably. Mind constantly moving between emotions like a ball in a pinball machine. Going from anger, to sadness, confusion, hope, then confusion again, before starting back at anger, only to repeat the cycle. He doesn’t know how he got through the day without injury. He wonders if he did a single productive thing.

Now Eivor stands awkwardly in front of Sigurd’s door, after being let into the building by the door man, (A door man. Goddamn, Rich people) with a “Mr. Varinsson I presume? Come right in, Mr. Styrbjornson is expecting you.”

He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and gives Sigurd’s apartment door three, quick, solid knocks.

His first thought when he finally sees Sigurd, -standing in the doorway, coat and tie thrown off, leaving behind just his partially unbuttoned dress shirt still tucked into pants, - is that the man looks exhausted. Dark bags under his intense eyes, and a haggardness Eivor has never seen on him before, painting all his features.

Eivor’s second thought, is that Sigurd looks _angry._ About as angry as Randvi looked. About as angry as Eivor feels. Felt. Still feels. Fuck.

“You look like shit,” Is what Sigurd says to him in lieu of a greeting, but there’s no heat to the words and all of the anger permeating from Sigurd seems to instantly evaporate. Replaced by a resigned sadness.

Eivor’s reaching from him before he knows what’s happening. Like a parched man reaching for a glass of water. One second they’re standing awkwardly across from each other, in the hallway of Sigurd’s uptown apartment building, and the next Eivor has his arms wrapped around Sigurd’s body and his face buried is Sigurd’s chest.

God, but he didn’t realize how much he missed the other man’s smell. It’s been less then a week, but that familiar cologne seems to fill every one of his senses and sooth them like a balm. He feels Sigurd’s arms gently fall around him, tentative and weary. Like Eivor isn’t really there. Isn’t really holding him. Like Eivor is a figment of Sigurd’s imagination.

“You should come inside,” He hears Sigurd say, from somewhere about his head. Barely louder then a whisper.

They make their way inside the apartment, a penthouse suite, and it’s just as lovely and expensive as one would imagine an apartment in this area of the city to be, but Eivor is barely paying attention. Under any other circumstance, he would be drinking in his environment. Taking note of every single detail with an eagle’s eye. Using every opportunity afforded to him to learn more of Sigurd, but right now, he’s far too focused on the man himself to pay attention to his surroundings. He supposes, depending on how this encounter goes, it wouldn’t really matter anyway. He may never see this place again.

The thought makes him feel like crying, but he holds back. Keeps his face stoic and hard. Not willing to crack and show exactly how much all of this has effected him. He feels so pathetic. Letting a man he’s only met a few months ago have so much control of his heart.

They eventually situate themselves on Sigurd’s large couch. Sitting beside each other, close enough to be friendly but with a noticeable distance still between them. It’s Sigurd who is the first to speak.

“I’m surprised to see you here, I didn’t think you wanted anything to do with me.” Sigurd isn’t looking at him, instead, his eyes are on the large flat screen TV on the other side of the living room. His face is void of all expression and Eivor realizes this is Sigurd in the courtroom, poker-face in place, not willing to give his opponent any hints as to what he’s thinking. It’s technically exactly what Eivor is trying to do, but Sigurd is far better at it, and Eivor hates it. Hates that they are both too scared to be vulnerable around each other.

“I could say the same to you,” Eivor starts and it comes out a lot more aggressive then he had intended. “I thought all you wanted from me was a quick fuck.” He knows right away that this isn’t fair. That he’s going on the offensive far too soon. Ruining any chance to talk before they even started, but he’s just so angry and hurt, and if he’s being honest, this is a fear he’s been harbouring since the faithful morning everything went to hell. Maybe even before that.

“Is that really what you think of me?” Sigurd asks, sharp and quiet but still not looking at him, “That I would just -”

“What else was I suppose to think? The way you were acting-”

“The way _I_ was acting? Eivor you were the one who _ghosted_ me!” And it’s here, as Eivor realizes the truth to those words, - that he _had_ completely ignored Sigurd. Not just all the times that the other man had messaged him asking to talk, but Eivor had ignored him that morning as well. - That Sigurd’s mask cracks to sudden and sharp anger. Finally turning to face Eivor, sadness and hurt visible in his eyes.

Then Sigurd pauses, turns away again before putting his head in his hands and holding it there. Eivor’s not sure what to do but before he can decide, Sigurd speaks again.

“I shouldn’t have let that night happen,” The words ring loud and clear, even through the barrier of Sigurd’s hands.

Eivor doesn’t have the time to react before Sigurd continues.

“I never saw you as a ‘quick fuck’ and the fact that you could ever believe that, that I somehow led you to believe that-” He can’t seem to finish the sentence. Still holding his head in his hands for a moment longer before slowly pulling away. Fingers dragging down his face like he’s trying to stretch some elasticity back into his tired skin. He pauses again before speaking, and Eivor couldn’t have predicted his next words if someone held a gun to his head.

“I knew about you before we officially met, you know.” It’s not a question, and Eivor’s mind, for the first time in as long as he can remember, is blank. He waits for Sigurd to continue.

“My father and yours were friends in high school,” and at the look of shock that must be showing on Eivor’s face, “No, I don’t expect you’d know that. It was a long time ago and they lost touch after graduating, adult responsibilities and all that. You know how it is...” Sigurd is fully facing him now, and there’s no more mask. No more walls. Just Sigurd, finally fully opening himself up, and Eivor is beginning to understand why it’s taken this long.

“But I remember the night your parents died,” Eivor feels himself flinch but he doesn’t want Sigurd to stop, and the other man continues, “I remember it because that morning, my father looked like he had seen a ghost. He wouldn’t talk about it, not past how angry he was at the media, but I had never seen him look like that, so I looked into it.”

Eivor feels like the ground is falling from underneath him. He doesn’t know what to do, this is so far beyond anything he could have expected.

“I spent that entire day going down a rabbit hole of some of the worst parts of the internet. All the theories and speculations. The articles...the news stories. It was hell just seeing it from the outside, I can’t imagine what it did to you.”

It was hell. It was the worst time of Eivor’s life. Not just because he had lost both his parents in one single night, but because of how it had happened, and how it was treated for the month or so after.

Suicide. Everyone had speculated it was suicide. That Eivor’s father had tried to kill himself and had wanted to take Eivor and his mother with him. Eivor was in the back seat and the only survivor and the way the media had hounded him....the way that social media had treated the entire event, and him. Like spectacles. Like entertainment. A mystery to be solved instead of a tragedy. He had gone to therapy for years to deal with it. He still doesn’t like remembering it, but as he thinks about it now. Considers it in the context of Sigurd’s actions these past months, and the words Sigurd is speaking, he’s feeling everything click into place like a puzzle he’s just finally managed to solve.

 _He’s the mayor’s son_ Randvi’s voice rings in his ears and he understands now. She knew about his past too. Hell, it was naive of him to think anyone didn’t know, the way it had all happened, but why would she do this then...

“But I also remember you.” Sigurd continues, interrupting his train of thought, “I remember how you looked in the photos. Defiant and strong, Like no matter what, you wouldn’t give in to them. Wouldn’t let them have the satisfaction of seeing their words effect you.” Funny, Eivor doesn’t remember feeling particularly strong back then.

“It humbled me,” Sigurd says, to Eivor’s complete surprise, “Me, who was always running away from my responsibilities and who I was...Randvi and I were ‘dating’-” and he uses air quotations here, “-at the time and miserable, and seeing what you had to go through...I came out to my father the next day.”

Eivor is shocked silent. He had absolutely no idea about any of this.

“When I heard you had started working at Randvi’s company, a part of me wanted so badly to meet you. I had even asked Randvi about you, before realizing how much of a stupid idea that would be.”

“So _that’s_ why she was trying so hard to set us up” Eivor blurts, without thinking. It’s the first thing he’s said since Sigurd started his explanation and he realizes, right away, from the shocked look on the other man’s face, that he had no clue about the set up.

Sigurd puts his head in his hands again. “God fucking dammit, Randvi.” Eivor hears him mumble.

“I don’t understand,” and now that Eivor has found his voice he can’t help but try to get clarification, to clear the confusion he still feels. Even more-so now, maybe. “You always seemed so distant, like you were pushing me away. Every time I tried to reach out to you-”

Sigurd groans from where his head is in his hands, before pulling it out to speak again.

“Because I never wanted to get involved with you. I had vowed against it, in fact,” and a part of Eivor still feels that same hurt, only this time, he knows where this is going now. He’s smart enough to put two and two together.

“I’m planning on running for Mayor. Soon, within the next two years, and I’m going to do it as myself. As the first openly gay mayor of this city. I won’t run from my responsibilities anymore, but I also won’t hide who I am.” Sigurd pauses again as if waiting to land a blow, but Eivor already knows what’s coming. He’s finally figured out the entire thing. Has stepped back and can see the big picture.

“Eivor, if you and I start a relationship, the media will never leave you alone, and your parent’s deaths will be the very first thing they go for.” And even though Eivor already knew this was exactly what Sigurd would say, he still finds himself flinching again, “Every single horrible thing that you had to deal with 4 years ago, they will dredge up again, and I didn’t want to put you through that. I swore I wouldn’t put you through that.” Sigurd sounds so determined now, so passionate.

“But when I finally met you at that party, it was almost like you cast a spell on me. No matter what I thought I should do, I couldn’t stay away. I....I was enraptured by you.”

And even though these words are what Eivor has been waiting to hear, and they make his heart flutter just as much as they would have last week, he won’t back down so easily. He may understand why Sigurd did what he did now, and why he’s been acting the way he has, but that doesn’t excuse things. Eivor was hurt too, and he deserves to feel that pain now, to speak his story. So he does.

“Sigurd the way you acted was shit,” And now it’s Sigurd who flinches. “I understand being nervous about showing affection in public, or wanting to keep your distance to keep me safe, but that’s not just your choice, and you strung me along for months instead of just talking to me. I can’t imagine it’s easy to trust others when you live in the environment you do, but how can anything be built between us if you don’t trust me or involve my feelings in the matter?”

“You’re right. I should have handled things better. I was scared, and confused and trying to find a way to have my cake and eat it to I guess, but yeah. It’s not just my say, you get to decide for yourself, and I’m sorry for not letting you do that until now.”

Eivor considers him now, and considers everything he has just learned. Really takes his time to think it through, both for himself, but also so Sigurd can see that he isn’t making any decisions lightly. Then he starts talking again, and this time, he’s not going to hide his vulnerability either.

“You’re right, Sigurd, 4 years ago, it _was_ hell. A living hell. Every morning it got harder and harder to get out of bed, and I had to see a therapist until just a year ago just to be able to cope.” Eivor takes a breath and composes himself a little before continuing.

“But I was alone. That was what made dealing with it all so hard. Almost all the people I had called friends had distanced themselves from me, and those that reached out, _I_ distanced myself from out of fear.” Sigurd is staring so intently at him, Eivor is almost finding it hard to continue but he pushes on.

“I’m not naive enough to believe the media won’t put me through hell again. I’m not ignorant enough to think I’ll walk out of it unscathed, but I’ve got better tools to handle it now, and better people to handle it with, and I won’t make the same mistakes I did back then.”

He reaches out and to take the other man’s hand, and he feels Sigurd freeze up, but he doesn’t pull away, instead he interlocks there fingers as he continues to listen to Eivor’s words.

“I can’t promise I’ll handle whatever gets thrown at me in the best way, and I can’t even promise that you and I will manage to outlast it,” Here we go, no more hiding now, Eivor.

“But, I’m in love with you Sigurd,” Sigurd gasps at that, just a tiny little thing but Eivor both sees it, and feels it through their hands, “I have been for a while. You are the best thing that has happened to me in a really long time, and I won’t let my past ruin this. I won’t let the media have this. I won’t let shitty, corrupt journalists take this away from me, and if you can be there to support me, then I’ll support you too.”

“Eivor,” Sigurd is reaching out for him with the hand that Eivor isn’t already holding. “Of course I’ll support you.” He’s touching Eivor’s cheek and leaning into him. “I’ll protect you to the best of my ability. Eivor, I love you. I don’t know how I could not love you.”

Then Sigurd is kissing him and Eivor is soaring. He knows, without a single doubt, that this is the best kiss he’s ever had or will ever have. That nothing else will ever compare. He can’t help feeling like he’s somehow coming home.

Later. After they’ve kissed for a while. Sigurd takes his hand and gives him the official house tour, and this time, Eivor pays attention to everything. He looks at the pictures of Sigurd as a child, a giant even then, and of all the little knickknacks and things he decorates his home with. Sigurd leads him into his bedroom and he gets to see that too, and though the invitation is there, they don’t have sex that night. Too tired to push for it, but also, wanting to learn this side of each other as well. This new, romantic, loving side, that they never really had a chance to explore until now.

Randvi can be seen throughout the entire apartment. Through pictures of her, to clothing items (a pair of slippers by the door that are unmistakably hers) “She told me you were friends since childhood but I had no idea you were this close,” Eivor can’t help but say, as they’re standing in front of a picture of teenage Sigurd and Randvi surrounded by friends at a beach. Eivor’s ashamed to find he’s a little jealous of the fact.

Sigurd just laughs, and it’s such a beautiful and happy sound, the jealousy is gone as quickly as it came. “When we were kids, all the local girls used to follow me around all the time-”

“-Mr. Popular, even as a child eh?”

“She was the only girl who never bothered with me.” Sigurd continues, ignoring him. "She called me horse face the first time we talked.-” A loud and rather unattractive laugh is forced out of Eivor at that and he can’t even be embarrassed by it from the way it makes Sigurd smile. “We’ve been best friends ever since,” Then the smile fades, “When our parents pushed us into dating. The media went rabid. We both got hit bad, but she had it worse. Women always get it worse. It almost tore us apart. 24 years of friendship almost destroyed in the span of 3 months.” Sigurd reaches out and touches the frame of the picture as he says it.

Eivor lets of of Sigurd’s hand to wrap his arms around the other man’s waist instead. “She still cares about you. I don’t think she ever stopped.” Eivor says into Sigurd’s body.

“Hmm” Sigurd hums, contemplating. “..You realize we can’t ever let her know she actually managed to set us up right?”

“Oh fuck no.” Eivor replies, alarmed. “She’ll never let either of us live it down. She’ll hold it over our heads for the rest of our lives”

But Randvi does find out, and she indeed holds it over their heads, every chance she gets. “I’m the reason they’re even together,” She says to every tabloid, reporter and journalist that approaches her.

“They like to think they did it themselves, but it was allll me,”

Headlines on articles across the net read cheesy lines like “Mayor’s best friend introduces him to true love,” and “Mayor has best wing-man in history.” Sometimes a couple of particularly awful tabloids try to bring up Eivor’s parents, but thankfully, those don’t spread far. It’s old news. Also the first tabloid that tried to do it had their entire building spray painted with crudely drawn penises.

Eivor sees paint on Ivar and Ubba's hands the day after, but he knows better then to say anything.

But nothing beats the day Sigurd had brought Eivor to his first interview. They’d asked Randvi to come too, as emotional support, but the interviewer had been especially shitty and had tried to use her presence to create drama.

“Eivor how does it feel knowing your boyfriend is still so close to his ex? Doesn’t it bother you at all? Have you ever suspected infidelity between them?”

Before Eivor could get over his shock enough to answer, Randvi speaks up instead.

“Don’t be stupid,” She says, and though she’s laughing and playing coy, Eivor is close enough to see the anger radiating off of her. “I would never sleep with Sigurd, he just doesn’t have what I look for in a partner.”

“Oh?” Says the interviewer. Taking the bait, “And what’s that?”

“A vagina.” She says and then watches the resounding chaos unfold. It was a live interview.

That day, the hashtag _LesbianAndHerHimbos_ Starts trending on twitter and Randvi loves it so much she makes a t-shirt.

She wears it to Eivor and Sigurd’s wedding, to the chagrined embarrassment of the two, and she ends her toast with a “To my stupid himbos. I hope, together, you can finally form that second brain cell.”

And though their life is far from perfect, and the media remains a constant pain in their asses. As Sigurd grabs Eivor’s hand and leads him to the dance floor to the tune of some Alanis Morrisette song, Eivor can’t help but think, it’s as close to perfect as one can get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are. Sorry for the delay on this one, I just started a full time job and I couldn't find the time to write. For those of you who stuck with me, I hope this final bit paints a clearer picture of Sigurd and what was going on in his head.


End file.
